


Inside Ourselves

by elleniumfalcon



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Coming Out, Fix-It, Fluff, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleniumfalcon/pseuds/elleniumfalcon
Summary: Richie’s thumb hovered over the little blue checkmark on his phone, circling back and forth, like twiddling an invisible joystick. If one were to look close enough, they could notice the faint tremor in the joint. His teeth worried at his lower lip and somewhere in the back of his mind, he processed the bitter taste of blood. Instagram stared back up at him, waiting patiently for him to just tap it.You can do this. You can. Just hit the fucking button…---Coming out is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It isn't unexpected that Richie would need a little help.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 128





	Inside Ourselves

Richie’s thumb hovered over the little blue checkmark on his phone, circling back and forth, like twiddling an invisible joystick. If one were to look close enough, they could notice the faint tremor in the joint. His teeth worried at his lower lip and somewhere in the back of his mind, he processed the bitter taste of blood. Instagram stared back up at him, waiting patiently for him to just tap it.

_You can do this. You can. Just hit the fucking button…_

He sighed heavily, closing the app for roughly the tenth time that hour, the hundredth time that week, tossing his phone onto the bed beside him. Richie set his elbows on his knees, tucking his head down into his hands. His fingers raked themselves within his hair, tugging slightly at the unruly curls with a frustrated groan. Behind him, Eddie slid his arms around his waist, pulling Richie’s back against his chest. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Eddie whispered, resting his chin on Richie’s shoulder, placing a soft kiss to the skin at the base of his neck.

“Yes, I do,” Richie sat up once more, letting his hands fall from his head with a soft thump against his legs. “I mean, I _want_ to, y’know?” 

“I know.” Eddie pulled gently on Richie’s waist before letting go entirely. He situated himself with his back against their headboard and spread his legs, patting the spot between them. “C’mere.”

Richie scoot back onto the bed, crawling up to meet Eddie. He lay himself between Eddie’s legs with a surprising gentleness, rolling so his stomach pressed against the mattress. He folded his arms across Eddie’s stomach, resting his chin upon them. Eddie’s fingers found their way to Richie’s hair, gently settling the knots that had formed from tugging.

“Tell me again why you want to come out,” Eddie said softly. They’d had this conversation the night before, and the night before that. They’d talked about it in therapy a million times over, Richie’s therapist encouraging him to put it into words. He knew the answer by heart, could recite it like a favorite song. But he knew that Richie needed to process these things out loud and he would always listen, always encourage him.

Richie’s body relaxed under Eddie’s touch, his shoulders slumping just slightly, the tightness in his jaw softening. 

“I’m tired, Eds. Like, my brain is tired. My soul’s tired. Fuck, even my body is tired! I’ve spent so much of my life just playing pretend and it isn’t fun anymore.”

“Was it ever fun?” Eddie asked, tilting his head slightly, his brows knitting together.

Richie snorted out a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twisting up just slightly. “No,” he shook his head. “But it definitely made things easier for a bit.”

Eddie nodded his head and gave a little half-shrug. “Keep going.”

“I dunno,” Richie shrugged, his mouth falling once more. “I feel like I should have this big fucking preamble, but I think that’s just it. I’m fucking tired. I don’t want to hide shit anymore, I don’t want to hide _you_ anymore.” 

A small smile spread itself across Eddie’s face and his hand slid down to cup Richie’s cheek gently, stroking his temple with the pad of his thumb. They’d talked extensively about what Richie coming out would mean for them. It was all well and good to say that their private life would be kept private, but they were trying to be realistic about everything. The fact of the matter was that Richie, albeit somewhere between C and B level, was famous. People knew his face. At least once a week, his face showed up on some trash rag at the grocery store or popped up on some Twitter feed. Eddie’s face had already landed there a couple times, as well, speculation circulating about who he was and what role he played in Richie Tozier’s life. And while Eddie wasn’t entirely prepared for that level of attention, he knew the risks when they first got together. If it meant he could hold Richie’s hand at the farmer’s market, or kiss him outside the walls of their home, it would be worth it. Richie was _always_ worth it. 

“I don’t want to be hidden, anymore, either,” Eddie said. “But I don’t want to push you into something if you aren’t totally ready.”

“You’re not pushing me, I promise.” Richie shook his head, brushing the very thought away with a flick of his wrist. “I _am_ ready. It’s just… Big, y’know? It’s going to change everything.”

“It’s huge, Rich. Fucking massive. I get it. But I’m here for you. We all are.”

He meant the Losers, Richie knew this. Telling them had been as easy as breathing. There had been no build up, no pit in the bottom of his stomach. The words had fallen from his lips with ease, casually, over breakfast the morning after Eddie got out of the hospital. Their support was unwavering, with no one being particularly surprised. Eddie coming out a couple months later had received the same response, as well as other confessions from other Losers in the months that followed. Whatever magic had touched them in Derry had yet to let go. Their thoughts, their emotions, their secrets were collective. 

“I know. I just…” Richie groaned again and buried his face into his arms, shaking his head. “I’m just a fucking coward.”

Eddie could have started on some rant about bravery, fiercely wanted to. Richie was the farthest fucking thing from a coward, how dare he talk about himself like that. But, now wasn’t the time. Eddie was beginning to learn this, when to chastise Richie’s self-deprecating talk and when to just let him be vulnerable. And now was for vulnerability. Twirling a loose curl around his finger, an idea suddenly swam its way into Eddie’s head.

“Hey.” He tapped the top of Richie’s head gently, smiling when the other looked up at him. “Do you trust me?”

Richie’s thick brows furrowed together, his face scrunching up slightly. “Not when you ask me like that…”

Eddie rolled his eyes, his own face scrunching up. “Oh, be serious!”

“I am! Like, you know I fucking trust you, it’s creepy when you have to ask!” 

“How is it fucking creepy?! _You’re_ creepy for thinking that!” Eddie pursed his lips together for a moment and then forced himself to relax. He took a deep breath and looked back down at Richie, his face having softened again. “I mean, do you trust _me_ to make your post?”

Richie’s face relaxed a bit, his expression shifting from concerned to contemplative. If this whole thing was left up to him, he’d never do it, and he fucking knew it. Well, he would _eventually_ , but who the fuck knows how long that would take. What he needed was someone who would just rip the bandaid off. Eddie was good at that. 

“Yeah,” Richie nodded once, barely noticeable. He reached over, grabbing his phone and handing it to Eddie with another, more confident nod. “Yeah, I do.”

Eddie took Richie’s phone, holding it just out of the other’s line of sight, his fingers tapping away furiously at the screen. He pressed the tip of his tongue between his teeth lightly as he concentrated, muttering a “yes” and a “no, no” here and there. After a couple minutes or so, he tapped the screen a final time, handing Richie his phone back. 

“Done.”

Richie rolled onto his back, using Eddie’s stomach as a pillow, pulling up his Instagram (which Eddie had conveniently connected to his Twitter). 

Staring back at him was a picture. It had been taken last Thanksgiving, at Stan’s house in Atlanta. Richie sat in a large, overstuffed armchair with Eddie draped sideways across his lap, socked feet resting on the armrest. Richie’s arms were wrapped around Eddie’s waist, holding him as close as he possibly could. Their foreheads were pressed together, faces split into large grins. He couldn’t remember what they had been laughing at, but remembered the way his stomach ached and the tears that pricked the corner of his eyes. Stan had taken the photo on the sly, sending it to the group chat only after they had all gone back home. It was their favorite picture of the two of them. 

The caption was simple: I don’t care if the world knows what my secrets are. 

Richie glanced back up at Eddie with watery eyes and a quivering smile. In his hand, his phone vibrated, push notifications flooding his screen. He didn’t read them. There would be time for that later. He tossed his phone aside, climbing up so he was sitting in Eddie’s lap. Strong arms wrapped their way around his back, pulling him in close as a sob broke free. 

Everything was going to change. Irreparably so. But Richie truly didn’t care. 


End file.
